Rebellion broke out in Canada. Captain Moodie, although suffering from a severe accident he had met with whilst ploughing, felt his loyalty and soldiership irresistibly appealed to by the Queen's proclamation, calling upon all loyal gentlemen to join in suppressing the insurrection. Toronto was threatened by the insurgents, and armed bands were gathering on all sides for its relief. So Captain Moodie marched to the front. Regiments of militia were formed, and in one of them he received command of a company. He left in January, and Mrs Moodie remained alone with her children and Jenny--a faithful old Irish servant--to take care of the house. It was a dull and cheerless time. And yet her husband's appointment was a great boon and relief. His full pay as captain enabled him to remit money home, and to liquidate debts. His wife, on her side, was not inactive. "Just at this period," she says, "I received a letter from a gentleman, requesting me to write for a magazine (the _Literary Garland_) just started in Montreal, with promise to remunerate me for my labours. Such an application was like a gleam of light springing up in the darkness." When the day's toils--which were not trifling--were over, she robbed herself of sleep--which she greatly needed--to labour with her pen; writing by the light of what Irish Jenny called "sluts"--twisted rags, dipped in lard, and stuck in a bottle. Jenny viewed these literary pursuits with huge discontent. "You were thin enough before you took to the pen," grumbled the affectionate old creature--"what good will it be to the children, dear heart! if you die afore your time by wasting your strength afther that fashion?" But Mrs Moodie was not to be dissuaded from her new pursuit. She persevered, and with satisfactory results. "I actually," she says, "shed tears of joy over the first twenty-dollar note I received from Montreal." Emulous of her mistress's activity, Jenny undertook to make "a good lump" of maple-sugar, with the aid of little Sol, a hired-boy, whom she grievously cuffed and ill-treated, when he upset the kettle, or committed other blunders. Every evening during the sugar-making Mrs Moodie ran up to see Jenny in the bush, singing and boiling down the sap in front of her little shanty. "The old woman was in her element, and afraid of nothing under the stars; she slept beside her kettles at night, and snapped her fingers at the idea of the least danger." The sugar-making was a hot and wearisome occupation, but the result was a good store of sugar, molasses, and vinegar.